


Holmes is brought before King Watson

by kayliemalinza



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-29
Updated: 2011-09-29
Packaged: 2017-10-28 13:57:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayliemalinza/pseuds/kayliemalinza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for a kinkmeme prompt: <a href="http://shkinkmeme.livejournal.com/9194.html?thread=19431146#t19431146">Watson is the king. He hears about the Great Detective and decides he wants him. Holmes (who has the letters "JW" shot into his wall) has always been proud to serve King and Country.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Holmes is brought before King Watson

The King sits upon a gleaming throne with lion's heads carved into the arm rests. The wood has dull spots here and there, round impressions where His Majesty's elbows sat or a deliberating finger tapped. The orb of his wrist nestles in the divot between the lion's eyes as if the beast were made of wax instead of wood. The King has sat in this chair for many years, and no-one else.

On the base of the throne are two broad grooves, one of them now unfilled. King Watson has in the past but no longer sits with both calves snug against the seat. His right leg crooks out, at a greater angle than Holmes would expect. Just this week past the King paraded through the streets as proud and straight-backed as he did before he went away to war. The citizenry demand such demonstrations, though is folly to correlate the virility of the kingdom with a single man's mortal body. Yet Holmes must confess that, even in his most cool and rational breast, there bloomed a warmth to see the King so unaffected by a foreigner's blade.

The King is still composed of ordinary flesh, however, and today the sky is roiling with grim clouds. Holmes' own brain is soft and aching from the heaviness of air. What it might do to a deep wound, he would not like to guess. The King will not be going on parade today.

The King's clothing is fine enough for parading, though he wears no ermine frippery or cloth-of-gold embellishments. His furs are more proliferous than a man of his strength should require and his shirt falls more loosely from his shoulders than it ought. His wounded leg is as thin as the walking stick beside, and the knee a similar oblong jewel atop it. Is that knee, beneath the dark wool of his trousers, as pinkly pale as the pearl atop his walking stick? Or is it purplish-green and scraggled through with broken veins?

His Majesty is gripping the pearl tightly enough that his fingertips blanch beneath their short, neat nails. There is a corresponding tenseness in his jaw and a glitter beneath his brow; this is a man in pain. However, that is not the only issue here. The arrangement of the fingers, and in particular the thumb which lies awkwardly shy of the pearl's lower curve, suggests that the King is unaccustomed to holding such a rare and useless object in his toughened palm. The seam below the pearl is either an artifact of the cane's construction or, more likely, the point where the cane may be pulled apart to reveal a weapon inside.

There is a callous which Holmes did not expect, on the distal knuckle of the middle finger. So the King is a man of letters as well as war.

These observations are the work of mere seconds, and in all, they serve to confirm that His Majesty King Watson is as capable and as he appears to be in those parades; he is as well-fashioned as his likeness on each silvered coin.

"Your Majesty," says Holmes. He kneels and bows so low that his forehead meets the fine, clean marble floor. "It is an honour to be called to serve you."


End file.
